


Disbelief

by thecryoftheseagulls



Series: Zeryn Brosca [8]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alistair is simultaneously blushy and toppy, F/M, Masturbation, Penis In Vagina Sex, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-25 05:38:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2610473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/pseuds/thecryoftheseagulls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zeryn/Alistair smut, starting the morning after the Lansdmeet (so this is set directly after the "Perfect, Despite Everything" fic). They've both waited so long to be with each other that there's some hesitation and insecurity about the new nature of their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disbelief

Alistair wakes just as the first hints of grey are appearing in the morning sky out the window. There is a warm weight on his chest and his body feels heavy, as it does after a long and much-needed rest. When he opens his eyes, he finds Zeryn sprawled naked on top of him, one hand clutching at his shoulder and the other holding his hand to her cheek. Her red hair tangles around her head and spills across both their skin. Alistair reaches out to touch her, tentative, part of him afraid she can’t be real. He brushes her hair away from her cheek. Surely this isn’t actually happening – in a moment, he’ll wake up in a tent to the bitter cold of the Fereldan air. Or, more likely, his mind has conjured up what he wants most in this world just to taunt him, and when he wakes up it will be to the harsh reality of a royal bedchamber, alone, with his coronation imminent. He shudders, wraps his arm tight about her small frame and kisses her forehead. No, this is real, his. It has to be. He can’t live without it.

Zeryn shifts against him and mumbles something in her sleep. He smiles. Maker, she is beautiful. And tiny! Out of the armor she wears like a second skin, out of her clothes, she is even tinier than he could have imagined. She fits against him perfectly, and it’s not that he’s scared of her smallness, though he does want to hold her tightly and never let her go. The opposite, really – when he sees her like this, she is all hard muscle, lean and strong and scarred here and there where her time under Beraht has left its mark. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a woman so fit in his life. She looks unbreakable. He runs his thumb along the soft skin of her cheek and tries to decide how he would describe her. Eyes like…green grass…or, no, they remind him of that one imported green stone that Isolde favored. Jade, was it called? Her hair has all these colors in it, spun gold and copper and hints of scarlet, maybe even a touch of brown in certain light. And her skin…he touches it again thoughtfully, drags his hand down her arm and her back. Sort of resembles brown honey, he thinks. Well. Maybe not. Perhaps…a sort of dark amber. He throws back his head against the pillow with a snort. No, he’s not going to be able to describe it. He’s terrible with these kind of romantic descriptions. Oh, he’d like to be able to woo her with poetic descriptions of her beauty, on his knees with roses and wine and every good thing he could think of to shower her with. But that would probably end with him sweating profusely and saying something unintelligible if not downright insulting. He’s incapable of keeping his head around her, that’s what the problem is. Always feels like he’s about to explode from how much she makes him feel and his inability to express any of it coherently. He groans.

“Mm. Alistair?” Zeryn mumbles, her voice groggy and adorable. She lifts her head from his chest slowly and blinks, eyes crusty with sleep.

“Hi. Hello. Still here,” he says, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“Oh,” she sighs, and at first he thinks she’s disappointed to find him still here, in her bed. Should he have left? Had she wanted him to leave? Then she shifts, slides up his body to bury her face in his neck, and he shivers at the drag of her small breasts and hard muscle across his skin. The way she clings to him, tugging his arms around her tightly, sparks something fierce and possessive inside him, and he eases. “Thank Andraste,” she says against him, her voice muffled.

“For what?” he says with a small chuckle, toying with her hair.

“Was beginning to think I wouldn’t ever actually get to wake up next to you.”

Alistair’s chest tightens.

“Well, I’m right here, love. Not going anywhere. That’s me, Mister Reliable. Afraid you’re stuck with me.”

She lifts her head and tugs his head into alignment with her face and kisses him deeply.

“I love you,” she says.

The words fill him with a rush of warmth, and he curls his hand around her jaw. “I love you too, my dear.”

She smiles, butting her head under his chin again and curling in on herself atop his chest.

“You’re rather feline, did you know that?” he chuckles.

“What?”

“Like a great big – well, teeny weeny, really, from a human scale I suppose – snuggly, adorable cat.”

“Not adorable,” she grumbles, sounding put-out.

“Oh, believe you me, love, you’ve the claws of a cat too. Fierce little thing. Downright terrifying, even.” He tickles her side.

She throws her head back, giggles and squirms. Batting his hand away, she sets her chin on his chest and eyes him. “You think I’m terrifying?” She wiggles her eyebrows at him.

“A little, yes,” he smirks. “Especially now that Oghren’s been giving you pointers. Let’s just say I’m glad you’re on my side.”

She sniffs and preens, a lopsided smile on her face. “As you should be.”

He laughs, hands sliding down her back to squeeze at her waist. Zeryn brushes her lips against his chest, smoothing her fingers through his gold chest hair. When he lifts a hand to brush through the hair at her temple, she turns her head and kisses his palm. Alistair smiles.

“That tickles!”

“Does it?” She peeks at his face and then proceeds to grab his hand and press kisses all over it.

“Zeryn!” he chuckles, shifting in an attempt to free his hand. Zeryn slips off his chest onto the bed beside him, and he snatches his hand away and rolls onto his side to tickle his big hands against her stomach. She shrieks. Wrapping her thighs around his hips, she flips him back over onto his back and straddles him. She bends, a wicked gleam in her green eyes, and fills her cheeks with air to let it out against the sensitive skin of his stomach. Alistair snort-chuckles, his muscles leaping and contracting at her touch. He wraps his hands around her biceps and tugs until she slides forward so that he can catch her lips with his. The kiss starts out teasing, but then Zeryn catches his lower lip between her teeth and he tangles a hand in her hair to keep her close to him. She sucks at his lip and then runs her tongue across it lightly, and he opens his mouth to her, slants his tongue against hers until they both pull back panting. Her eyes are wide on his face.

Alistair tips his head, then slowly reaches for her, his hands cupping her breasts. He watches her closely, watches her close her eyes and moan softly when his fingers tighten over her nipples. When she doesn’t move to stop him, he slips his hands down over the tight muscles of her stomach, grips her by the waist, and rolls her over. He settles himself between her thighs, and Zeryn spreads her legs to accommodate him. Alistair glances at her again and she reaches down to take his hand. He feels a surge of affection in his chest and smiles at her warmly. Kissing the inside of a thigh, he nudges her open a little more before he pushes inside her.

Zeryn’s soft moan quickly turns to a cry of pain, and Alistair freezes. He pulls back abruptly, fear filling him.

“Zeryn? Love, did I hurt you? Are you all right? I didn’t mean…”

He hovers over her in concern, careful not to touch her, and Zeryn pulls him down to the bed beside her by his hand. She shakes her head.

“I’m okay. I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me much.” At that, at the word ‘much,’ Alistair inhales guiltily, and Zeryn reaches for his face. “Shh, it’s all right. It’s not your fault. You’re just…big, see.”

He peers at her, still feeling panicky. “Did I hurt you last night?”

“No, love, you did good last night.”

“You would tell me if I had?” He frowns.

Zeryn laughs softly, and the look she gives him is full of wonder. She brushes her fingers soothingly against his cheek. “Yes, I would tell you, like I’m telling you right now. I’m not _that_ fragile, Alistair. You’re not understanding how…well-endowed…dwarven men are. I’ve been with human men, and it’s okay. You…you’re just long.”

Alistair blinks rapidly and then blushes furiously when he realizes what she just said.

“Ah…I…”

“Here.” Zeryn curls onto her side opposite him and slides forward to press against him. He inhales sharply. Zeryn wraps her fingers around his cock and strokes him a few times, and then she guides him back towards her entrance.

“Zeryn…”

She rubs a hand over his shoulder reassuringly and says, “Just not so deep this time, and we’ll be fine, okay?”

He looks in her the eye for a long moment and then nods. “Okay,” he whispers.

This time he presses inside her gingerly and stops shy of pushing in all the way. When she nods at him, he thrusts shallowly and carefully.

“Good,” she whispers, smiling at him, her fingers in his hair. The effort costs him; Alistair puts his weight on his arms on either side of her body to steady himself. His hips stutter with the strain of holding himself to the careful pace. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to last long.

“Alistair,” Zeryn says quietly. “No, don’t stop. Here.” She takes one of his hands and guides it between her thighs, directs his fingers to the tight nub of nerves there. When she gasps at the drag of his fingers against her skin, he tries to pull away, but she shakes her head. “No. There. Touch me there,” she says, begging now, and Alistair frowns at her but obeys, rubbing his large fingers against her clit. She shudders. “Yes. Ah. Like that.”

Alistair’s frown turns to a smile, and he rubs a little harder. Zeryn arches underneath him.

“ _Ancestors_ ,” she groans, and Alistair bucks against her one more time and comes with a surprised cry, dropping his head onto her chest. She slips a hand between their bodies, pushing his out of the way, and rubs her own fingers against her clit until she too moans and shudders one last time underneath him.

He rolls over onto his side with a sigh. Brushing her hair back from her face, he asks,

“How was that? Was that okay?”

“You did good, Alistair,” she murmurs. “You’re very attentive.” She runs her fingers over the scruff on his chin and smiles. “You’re going to be very good at this very quickly.”

Alistair purses his lips, looking put out. “Meaning I’m not now.” He sighs.

“No, you’re actually very good, considering I just deflowered you last night.”

He pulls a face at her and Zeryn cackles.

“Mean. You’re a mean dwarf,” Alistair grumbles, burying his face in the blankets.

“But I’m _your_ mean dwarf.”

That idea pleases him. “Mine,” he echoes thoughtfully. He smirks and growls, and tugs her flush against him. “Mine,” he repeats gleefully.

Zeryn grabs his hair and kisses him soundly.

“Yes.”

***

That night, on the road to Redcliffe, Zeryn goes to her tent alone. The topic of new sleeping arrangements had never come up on the day’s journey. Really, Zeryn hadn’t even thought to bring it up, so busy was she thinking about last night and this morning in Denerim, and talking strategy for the upcoming battle with the others. Then when they’d made camp, everyone had wanted to talk to her. She supposed Redcliffe and the horde filled everyone’s thoughts with a finality that made the night’s conversations that much more urgent. She didn’t get a chance to speak two words to Alistair. And when she’d finally finished a conversation with Leliana and looked around to find no one else waiting to speak to her, it had hit her how exhausted she was. Alistair was across the camp talking animatedly to Wynne, and she’d thought that he probably didn’t want to fuck her after a long day’s march, inside a tent so near the others. So she’d sighed and sent herself to bed without talking to him.

Inside her tent, she strips down to just a shirt and crawls into her bedroll. There’s still exhaustion weighing down her muscles, but…she _wants_. How has she lasted so many months sleeping with him a stone’s throw away in another tent? _How?_ Sod it all, just this morning he’d been between her legs, in her arms; she feels a tight heat settle low in her body at the thought of him, of his cock inside her. And then she’s sliding her hand between her legs, pushing a finger inside herself, then two. She crooks her fingers at an angle and slides them out, drags them up her slit to rub at her clit. She finds the spot on just to the left and under her clit that never fails to make her arch her back and moan; she rubs frantically, fingers far from gentle because she just wants him, not her hand. How many times has she done this before, touched herself and pictured his hands instead on her body? But that was before, before she’d actually had his hands on her and now she wonders how she ever thought she was sated by just her own efficient fingers. And _Maker_ , why didn’t she tell him she expected him in her tent tonight before they parted this morning? She’s such an idiot. He could be here now, his big, calloused hands knocking hers aside, his mouth on her cunt, tasting her, teasing her, his cock…

“Alistair…” She keens his name like a prayer, and reaches to thrust her fingers back inside. There’s the rustle of a tent flap being untied and pulled aside, and a soft clank of armor.

“Yes?” a soft voice answers her, sounding amused, and then Alistair is standing inside her tent – well, hunching, rather – and he’s still fully armored and Zeryn squawks loudly and freezes. Alistair turns his green-gold eyes on her once he’s secured the flap behind him and stills similarly. He turns tomato red (fuck him, it would be from head to toe if she could only see more of him) and squeaks, “What are you doing?!” His voice breaks in the middle like a prepubescent boy and she…she…bronto piss, she still has her fingers inside herself. She clamps her other hand over her mouth – in mortification or to avoid a string of colorful expletives at his sudden appearance, she isn’t really sure.

“Sodding nug-humping sloshed brains of my stone-damned fucking ancestors!” she hisses when she pulls her hand away to answer him. Ah, the, uh, cursing one, then. She slaps her hand back over her mouth and tries to decide what she should do with the hand that’s still between her legs. Alistair hasn’t budged an inch; he’s still redder than she has ever seen him, and staring open-mouthed very deliberately only at her face. She thinks if she moves she’s only going to draw his eyes and fluster him further. So instead she slowly pulls her other hand away from her face again, licks her lips, and tries to explain. “I, uh…we’re in camp, and I didn’t know if you wanted…er. I didn’t think you were coming to see me tonight, and I couldn’t…I want…”

Great. Well done, Zeryn. That undoubtedly made everything _much_ clearer for the man whose virginity you just took last night. Perfect. Zeryn mentally smacks herself.

Meanwhile, the embarrassment on Alistair’s face is rapidly turning to lust. His eyes darken, and he darts his gaze down her mostly-naked body before looking her in the eyes again.

“I want you,” he says simply, voice husky, as his only explanation for showing up in her tent, and _maker’s balls_ she doesn’t think she’s ever been more aroused in her life.

“Thank Andraste,” she groans. When he starts stripping off his armor with swift hands, she finally pulls her damp fingers away from her body and sits up, reaching to help him. He frowns at her.

“No, stay,” he says, an unusual tone of command in his voice, and Zeryn blinks, but obliges. Once divested of his armor, he starts undoing the ties on his gambeson, pulling the heavy garment over his head and dropping it to the ground. At the sight of his bare back, Zeryn’s mouth goes dry. She starts rubbing at her clit again as he kicks out of his boots and shimmies out of his trousers, hungry eyes on the flex of his muscle under his skin as he moves.

He turns back to her and steps closer until he’s standing just over her on her bedroll, his cock already bobbing hard towards his stomach. She eyes it and licks her lips.

“You’re touching yourself again,” he says, and this time there’s no embarrassment, no flush, only a flat statement in a decidedly displeased tone. Zeryn doesn’t stop.

“Yes?” She drinks him in, knows it’s obvious how much she wants him on her face, in her eyes, in the slow move of her slick fingers against her skin. Alistair inhales sharply and sinks to his knees, grabbing her hand by the wrist and tugging it towards himself.

“ _I_ want to pleasure you,” he says petulantly, and though he gets those words out steadily, he flushes down his whole body after he speaks. 

“Fuck,” Zeryn growls, because she can’t say anything else when those words alone bring her almost to the brink. She waits for him to touch her, but instead, he turns her hand in his grasp, brings it to his mouth, and starts sucking her wetness off her fingers. “Aeducan’s _balls_ , Alistair, what are you…” she shivers at the sensation of his tongue laving between her fingers and then he takes each digit into his mouth and sucks it clean, pulling it back out with a wet pop that sounds deliciously obscene before he moves on to the next. She squirms and moans his name, the tightness in her groin almost unbearable.

He lets go of her hand and pulls the shirt she’s still wearing up over her head to drop it to the side. He bends to take a nipple in his mouth and flicks his tongue against her. She tenses. She’s already so close, on the edge, and she just…

“Sod it all, Alistair, I need you to fuck me already. Please, love, I can’t…”

Alistair hums against her breast and pulls his mouth off her. He presses a kiss to her hard stomach and spread her legs, steadies himself, pushes inside her. Zeryn drops her head back onto her bedroll and moans loudly when he’s filling her, thick and hot inside her wet heat.

“Fuck yes,” she groans, and Alistair, bless him, blushes again. But _Maker_ he looks pleased, looking down at her with heat and affection and self-satisfaction. He bends to press their lips together, and Zeryn arches into the kiss and nips at his lips. He chuckles, braces his hands on her small hips and thrusts once, twice, and then she clenches around him and cries out, the sound thankfully swallowed by his mouth or the whole camp would have heard it. He moves shallowly till she stops quaking and when she comes back to herself enough to stop gouging holes in his back with her nails, he sets a more steady pace. She’s building to another orgasm around him when she slips a hand between her legs and rubs at her clit like she showed him this morning, and then she’s shuddering and panting out his named mixed with obscenities, and he spills himself inside her as she comes again.

She’s vaguely aware of him dropping panting beside her, of him settling them both under her blankets after a moment and curling around her. Eventually she realizes he’s dragging big calloused fingers slowly through her hair, occasionally rubbing the pads of his fingers against her scalp, and she’s arching into the touch making pleased noises. She rolls over to find him propped up on an elbow just watching her. Zeryn snuggles in close to him and rubs her face against his golden chest hair and sighs. He drops the hand he was combing through her hair over her side and pulls her tight to him.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “Should’ve known you’d want to stay with me. Should’ve brought it up before we left.”

"Yes,” he agrees softly, now rubbing light circles into the skin of her back. Zeryn’s hand creeps up to hold tightly to his bicep and she’s quiet for a long moment.

“I love you, Alistair. Maybe I was trying not to push you because I knew you wanted to wait, before. But I…maybe I have a hard time understanding how you can want me as much as I want you. You’re so…and I’m just…” she sighs. “Nobody’s ever looked at me the way you do, especially not a human as…as desirable as you are.”

His hand stops moving against her skin. “You act like women are just lining up to be with me, Zeryn. Nobody’s ever wanted me like you do either.” He shifts and pulls her higher so she looks at him. “I love you,” he says fiercely. “You’re… _everything_ to me. And now you’ve freed me to just be a Warden, to be just Alistair instead of the puppet king Eamon wanted to make me into, there’s nothing to keep me from remaining at your side forever. No throne. No responsibilities. Even this battle…well, it isn’t going to be able to tear me from you, not if I have anything to say about it. All I want is to be with you.”

She nods. “Me too,” she whispers.

“Well then.” Alistair brushes his lips against her forehead and cuddles her closer to his larger frame. “That’s settled, see. I’m not spending another night without you and you,” he tickles her side, “aren’t going to be touching yourself when I can do that for you. So.” She giggles and he looks smug.

“Okay,” she says softly. She leans back to peck his chin. “Love you,” she murmurs again.

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can find me on tumblr, where I am also thecryoftheseagulls.


End file.
